


Hunting the Hunters

by FaultyParagon



Series: Qrow Branwen-Centric Fics [8]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Canon Compliant, Drinking to Cope, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Heartbreak, Loss, Qrow is not having a good time, Volume 5 (RWBY), What A Good Boy, he needs a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:56:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23587252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaultyParagon/pseuds/FaultyParagon
Summary: Qrow’s mission to find Huntsmen and Huntresses to help them defend Haven and find the Spring Maiden hurts more people than he could have ever expected. He didn’t mean for this to happen.-Set in V5E6.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen & Ozpin, Qrow Branwen & Ruby Rose
Series: Qrow Branwen-Centric Fics [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1448095
Comments: 10
Kudos: 47





	Hunting the Hunters

**Author's Note:**

> Qrow has the short end of every stick in this show and it's never fair. 
> 
> This is set in V5E6.

Hunting the Hunters

_Find Huntsmen and Huntresses who can help. Easy enough- I’ll be done in no time._

What a lovely sentiment.

…he should’ve known it was too naïve of him to think that way.

He spent a few days putting together lists based on his old contacts. It was against a strict set of criteria that he vetted everyone in order to ensure that they would not only be up to the task of fighting against Salem, and Raven, if the need be- but also finding people who, once they knew the truth, would actually join their cause.

It didn’t leave him much choice of subjects, but it did give him enough people to occupy his next few weeks, at least.

 _I’ll find them, Oz. Don’t worry about it._ His heart warmed a bit at the thought of Ozpin, now residing in Oscar’s body. He hadn’t lost his leader. Ozpin was relying on his skill to keep them going, and Qrow wasn’t going to let him down.

His first trip to search for Huntsmen was out to the seedier levels of Mistral. The people he spoke to along the way were able to confirm the usual dives of some of his targets, meaning he was bound to find one of them sooner or later. 

Walking into an empty pub which his first target loved, Qrow put on a whimsical smile as he approached the counter.

“Regular, or the special?” the man behind the counter murmured gruffly, whittling away at a block of wood in his hands with a knife far too big for such a task. He didn’t bother looking up at Qrow to see who had entered his pub. Qrow knew better than to think that his ease was misplaced- the numerous scars and chiselled figure of the man made it clear that the bartender knew how to deal with anyone who entered his pub with ill intentions.

Qrow still didn’t like him. _Damned Mistral, always with their ‘No Faunus’ signs. This isn’t the time of the Great War- pull your head out of your ass and move on._

“I’m actually looking for someone,” Qrow announced quietly. “Goes by the name ‘Shiro Wan’. Ever heard of him? I heard he’s a regular around here.”

“Who’s askin’?” the man replied, still carving slowly, methodically.

With a small smile, Qrow said, “Hey, I’m not some cop if that’s what you mean. I need Shiro for a gig. We go way back.”

The bartender closed his eyes for a moment, nodding appreciatively at the confession. “Way back, huh?” Finally lifting his head, the man stated, “So, he’s a friend of yours.”

Qrow stroked his chin, thinking back to his past working alongside Shiro. The other man had _hated_ him (unfairly, in all reality- it wasn’t Qrow’s fault that every girl Shiro had ever held a candle for fell in love with Qrow instead) and had distinctly tried to sabotage him during exams (but Qrow figured it out- he was used to handling… mishaps) back during their days competing in the Vytal Festival Tournament.

 _Good times,_ he thought wryly. “Hm. Yeah, I’d say so. He’s a pretty alright guy.” _All things considered._

The bartender smiled, finally looking Qrow in the eyes. “Well, in that case…” In a flash, he brought the knife scant inches away from Qrow’s nose and roared, “You tell that _jerk_ that he better not show his _ugly face_ in here until he pays me the Lien he owes me!”

_…Fuck. He hasn’t been here in ages, that means._

Taking a closer look at the man’s knife, Qrow couldn’t help but gulp in mild terror. Were those bloodstains on the grip? He took a step back, and another, and another, then held up his hands in peaceful protest. “Um, oh, did I say ‘friends’?” With a harried chuckle, he explained, “I meant ‘acquaintance’.”

He flinched as the bartender sneered and drove his blade into the wooden countertop with the same ease of a knife cutting through butter.

“Really, we’re _just colleagues,_ ” Qrow insisted, now backing away towards the door. Chuckling nervously, he added, “Anyways, thanks for your time, buddy. I’ll just be takin’ off now.”

And with that, he was close enough to the exit. With one final step, he escaped the bartender’s view, letting the humid air wash over him. Sliding the wood and paper door shut behind him, he leaned against the nearby wall, letting out a weary sigh as the tension slipped away.

 _I need a drink._ As those words passed through his mind, his hands reached for the flask in his inner coat pocket and he took a hearty swig. _That… was not ideal._ With a weary sigh, he pulled out his Scroll and crossed Shiro’s name off the list he had curated. “Ugh. Great start.”

Before he could step away from the building, a thud and the ringing of shaking metal startled him. The bartender’s knife had pierced through the thin door from the inside, embedding itself into the screen just a few inches from his head.

 _Okay, now it’s_ really _time for me to go._

Hightailing it away, Qrow looked at the next name on his list with a grimace. _Blanka Griffin. You’re a sweetheart… sort of. Let’s see if you’re still around to help me out._

Thus began his wanderings around Mistral. For the next few weeks, he endured the perpetual rains of the lower levels of the city and approached everyone he saw, desperate to get information on the names on his list. While he knew where they generally spent their time, he hadn’t been to Mistral for months- and that time had clearly affected his knowledge of how its Huntsmen spent their time. He couldn’t find a single person, no matter where he went.

_Harkin Lunsford… Shani Florenza…_

He crossed them both off. They were gone without a trace, just like the pages and pages of Huntsmen and Huntresses he had searched for before them.

_Time’s running out. There’s got to be someone here, dammit!_

Today was the day he was supposed to have brought their new allies back to their temporary lodgings. How could he return empty-handed?

His feet ached, his shoulders slouched, and his flask was running dangerously low on whisky by the time he reached Heather’s name at the very bottom of the list. “Heather Shields,” he read aloud. _Nice girl,_ he thought sardonically, all hope but gone. _She’ll help for sure- just gotta make sure not to say anything to piss her off. It’ll be fine._ He had found her address buried in some old mail for a previous mission, and after confirming with a few locals where to find her, he found himself in front of the ramshackle building which belonged to his old colleague.

Tucking away his Scroll, he knocked carefully upon the door. When no one responded, however, a flare of anger swelled up in him. _C’mon, you’ve gotta give me_ something _to work with here!_ Scowling, he banged on the door roughly with a clenched fist, a sliver of satisfaction arcing through him as he heard the very hinges rattle in place.

No response. As he raised his hand to knock again ( _I am going to rip into you for this, Heather, I swear to the gods-)_ the door finally opened, stopping him in his tracks. The person opening the door, however, was decidedly _not_ Heather Shields. Instead, it was a weary, despondent man dressed in traditional Mistralian garb.

“Oh, uh- hey there,” Qrow mumbled. “I’m, uh- I’m looking for Heather?”

The man pursed his lips, but his expression didn’t change- he merely blinked silently at Qrow.

 _Of course he’s gonna play hard-to-get._ “Look, pal,” Qrow muttered, “I’ve had a rough day. Do you know where she is, or not?”

A female voice broke his concentration. It wasn’t Heather’s, though. A tiny girl stepped forward, murmuring, “Daddy?” as she clung to the Mistralian man’s leg. Tugging on the man’s robe, the little girl, who couldn’t have been older than six years old, asked innocently, “Does _he_ know where Mommy is?”

In an instant, Qrow was no longer in the rainy underbelly of Mistral. In an instant, Qrow was transported back to twelve years earlier in Patch- his best friend opening the door, a grim expression on his face, looking as if he hadn’t slept in weeks- the sounds of a rampaging, weeping Yang echoing from upstairs-

And tiny, four-year-old Ruby pulling Tai’s shorts feebly. “Daddy, does Uncle Qwow know where Mummy is?”

_Summer._

The man holding the door open cleared his throat, and Qrow snapped back to the present, eyes falling to the little girl once again.

Tears misted over Qrow’s eyes automatically. He blinked them away, but couldn’t hide the grief in his heart for the father and child. Ashamedly, he murmured, “I, um…” He sighed, slouching over. “I’m sorry to bother you.”

His heart crumbled for the millionth time seeing her expression fall, understanding and grief and frustration welling up in large, pale blue eyes as she turned away and slipped back inside the house. A moment after her leave, the man nodded once- cold, taut, and broken- and closed the door with a creak.

Qrow ran his fingers through his hair, trying to calm the emotions desperately trying to well up inside of him. _This isn’t the time for this,_ he thought wearily. Turning away from the house, he reached into his jacket and pulled out his flask.

Summer had always scolded him for his drinking habits.

With a sigh, he tucked it away and stormed off. He knew where he had to go.

So, after climbing through what felt like a million sloped passageways and tunnels and narrow staircases, Qrow found himself in the nearest Huntsmen’s mission center. It took a minute for the secretary to verify his Huntsmen’s ID- problems with the system, most likely, now that the CCTS wasn’t connected to Beacon’s records- but eventually, the secretary was satisfied, and he was allowed into the central missions room.

Pulling up a bounty screen, he input the names of all the Huntsmen and Huntresses he was looking for. _There’s no goddamn way they’re all on away missions right now,_ he thought darkly. _Time’s running out. I need to find them._

Once the system had found all those he was looking for, the long list of names finally appeared on screen. One by one, he began to go through his list again, reading through each of the missions his comrades were sent upon last.

As he flipped through their profiles, however, his heart could only sink further and further into his chest. _Terminated? On hold for 5 weeks? There’s no way they’d be in the field that long for simple Search and Destroy missions. That’s not how this works._ He sauntered over to a nearby bench, taking a seat to process it all. _There’s no damned way. These were all… These were all capable Huntsmen. They’d have finished these missions in days, not weeks or months, or..._

And then, it struck him.

 _Without the CCTS, the Aura broadcasting is also down. They’re probably using dog tags, or mission boards in the boonies… there’s no way to communicate when people have failed a mission._ He gulped. _There’s no way they_ all _failed their missions._

_There’s no way to say whether they died on their missions, or from an external attack._

He let out a long, shuddering breath, fighting back the wave of nausea that crashed over him. He leaned forward, hanging his head below his shoulders and trying to get the panic to subside. _Salem’s been hunting the Huntsmen who could stand up to her. How… how would she know who to kill?_

It just didn’t seem real.

_We’re out of time._

His Scroll buzzed. “We’ll have dinner ready, so make sure everyone’s ready for food!” Ruby’s message read.

He hung his head in shame and staggered to his feet. _Guess I’ll… take care of things before I head home._

The first place he went to was Heather’s home. His words were curt, clipped. He told the man- her husband- the status of the mission, and what those uncertainties generally meant.

The man said nothing, but as Qrow walked away, he could see into the home through boarded-up windows. He witnessed in silence the man gathering up his daughter in his arms and just _weeping._ Qrow barely maintained his poise as the image burned into his brain. But it needed to be done.

Over the course of the next few hours, Qrow’s feet dragged him throughout the hillsides of Mistral. He retraced his steps over the past few weeks, seeking out the faces he had spoken to throughout his mission. Every time he found someone, he couldn’t bear to look in their eyes as they understood his words.

He could already tell that he would be hearing those sobs of heartbreak and grief in his dreams for days.

Finally, he was brought back to that same pub he had first visited. The ‘No Faunus’ sign seemed as tacky as ever, and as he stepped in, there were yet again no customers. The man seemed to be whittling another small piece of wood, his other creations lining the counter clumsily with no real rhyme nor reason to them.

Glancing up at him quickly, the bartender rumbled, “You’ve gotta lot of nerve showin’ up back here- ‘less you brought that idiot with you.”

Hesitantly, Qrow asked, “How much did Shiro owe you?”

Skeptically, the man murmured, “Well, I’d say about… sixteen-thousand Lien.”

 _That’s a fucking lie, and you know it._ Qrow didn’t protest, though. He simply reached into a pocket and pulled out a burner card. Using his Scroll, he loaded up sixteen-thousand Lien onto the card, then tossed it onto the counter.

The motion finally got the man to stop whittling. Utterly confused, he cried, “Wait, what?” With a snort, he said, “Man, you must be in some serious trouble with him if you’re payin’ me off.”

“His name is clear,” Qrow replied evenly.

There was a moment of silence between the two men. Before his very eyes, the bartender’s expression twisted from full of bravado, to shock, to resigned, weary grief. “Yeah,” he muttered.

Qrow headed towards the exit with that admission. As he was leaving, however, he could hear the bartender’s voice hitch upwards slightly, his sorrow barely held back. “That _idiot,”_ the bartender whispered.

Qrow bit his lip, stepping out of the pub. “Yeah,” he replied to the damp night air, glancing up at the sky. It was still raining.

_I’m so, so sorry._

He should’ve known he was the wrong guy for the job. He should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy. All he ever did was bring misfortune.

_**-fin-** _

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think in the comments :)


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